


Marshmallow

by TrickyJerseyGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Campfire, Camping, Cute, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Forests, Funny, Gabriel Being Gabriel, Gabriel is a Softie, Gabriel is caring, Gabriel is romantic, No Smut, Romantic Fluff, SUCH FLUFF, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:36:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrickyJerseyGirl/pseuds/TrickyJerseyGirl
Summary: Gabriel likes camping. Tia does not.





	Marshmallow

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the picture below and written for a friend on the SPN Over 30 FB group.

 

  


“Gabriel,” Tia said. Her voice sounded exhausted and weak. “You have to do something about the blood loss. I don’t think I can last much longer.”

The archangel Gabriel looked down at her--at the love of his long life as she lay prostrate on the cold ground, her expression pained and miserable--and rolled his eyes so hard he actually felt the stretch of his ocular muscles. “Drama does not become you, Geeg.”

She made a frustrated sound and sat up, punching the ground for emphasis. “Take me to a hotel right now.”

“No.”

“Fine.” She stood up and brushed dirt off her jeans. “Then I will just go find a hotel.”

“Good luck with that.” He added more wood to the campfire he had made. “I used that last of my juice to transport us to this stunningly gorgeous and isolated place with a lakeview and a cabin, and we are miles from civilization and the nearest hotel. You’re welcome, by the way.”

She stamped the ground with her feet. “I fucking hate camping.” More stamping.

“I’ve never seen you have a tantrum. It’s kind of adorable.” He stood up to admire the fire. He was very pleased with his handiwork. He warmed his hands. “I would have made a spectacular boy scout.”

Tia fell heavily into a camp chair, very nearly collapsing it. “I hate you.”

He snorted a laugh. “That is a lie.” He slapped at a mosquito on his neck. “OK, I will give you that the bugs are annoying. But it’s a small price to pay.”

She groaned. “How long until you recharge and we can go home?”

“Morning, probably.” He had accompanied her on a hunt, along with the Winchesters and Castiel, and while the hunt itself was successful and the creature easily dispatched, the old warehouse they fought it in was basically one giant accident waiting to happen. They didn’t have to wait long. Everyone got hurt--concussions, broken bones, brutal cuts, and more. Sam almost drowned when stairs broke under his weight and he fell into an old drainage pool. Not even Castiel had escaped damage. By the time Gabriel had healed everyone repeatedly, ported his brother and the boys back to the Bunker, and gotten himself and Tia to this safe and isolated place for a little recuperation time (which she sorely needed and which he had gotten damn tired of waiting for her to take herself), he was basically out of angel mojo and needed a rest himself.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know she hated camping. He did now. Mainly because she hadn’t stopped complaining since they arrived.

“How can you hate this?” he said, a little exasperated. He stretched his arms out wide. “It’s gorgeous. The sky is clear, the stars are everywhere. It smells wonderful, fresh air and pine trees. There are baby animals. You love baby animals.”

“There are bugs,” she countered.

“I packed bug spray.”

“It was cold.”

“I made a fire.”

“I’m hungry.”

He reached into a backpack and then held up a package. “I brought marshmallows.” He tossed the bag into her lap. “I will go find you a stick.”

“Guess what you can do with that stick,” she muttered.

He rolled his eyes again, walked over to her and pulled her up out of the chair, completely ignoring her half-hearted struggles as he wrapped his arms around her. He gave her entire body a little shake. “Enjoy this with me.”

She put her arms around his neck and then went limp in his arms with a very heavy sigh. “If you loved me, you would take me to the Ritz-Carlton.”

“Because I love you, I brought you here, where it is quiet and away from everyone and potentially everything that could possibly be a problem or an annoyance.” He smiled. “Except for me. You need real rest, actual rest.”

“We could have gone home,” she countered, standing properly but staying in his comfortable embrace.

“Where you would have found at least a dozen projects to work on and probably have fallen off the roof or something.” He wasn’t exaggerating. They were restoring an antediluvian house in the Treme district of New Orleans, and he felt like he was forever fixing cuts, bruises, abrasions, and once, memorably, a broken cheekbone when she “found” the old well on the property by falling into it and hitting her face on the rock wall on her way down. “This is better. Safer. For now.”

“There could be werewolves. Hell, there could be actual wolves. Wendigos. Bigfoot.”

He chuckled. “OK, sure, it’s possible. But you know what’s definite? You. Me. Toasted marshmallows. A cabin with a fireplace and a huge featherbed which I plan to make very good use of later on.”

Her lips quirked as she tried to fight a smile. “I have mosquito bites.”

“Uh huh.” He leaned in to nuzzle her neck and kiss his way to her ear. “There's calamine lotion inside. I promise to check every inch of your skin and tend to your every need.”

She made a sound that was far more agreeable to his ears than the last one she had made and said, “Oh, _fine_. But after toasted marshmallows.”

“Hell, yeah.”


End file.
